THE CRIMSON
by Kaxopilla
Summary: Four men are sent to an undiscovered corner of a flourishing world, tasked by the Kingdom of Terraria to find and rescue five lost mapmakers who had been sent there in attempt to finish the map of the world. These four men, the best suited for such a task in all of Terraria, find complications right at the doorstep of the abyss in the Terrarian Kingdom's map.
1. Chapter 1

There were four men sent there, to that dark corner of the world; sent to the unfilled portion of the great map of Terraria. The Mapmaker's guild would often send their members to that far reach of the world in hopes that they may return with the final puzzle piece of the world, but no such thing ever happened. The guild began to worry, having lost five people to whatever lay in that empty hole of Terraria's known world. They thought it necessary to send a rescue party, comprised of the four men. With that, the guild hoped to reclaim whoever in that corner was still alive, and, with that, reclaim what maps they had written.

The City of Farfrost, home of the great king of Terraria, began to bustle with news of the guild's action, news that the world would finally be fully explored. The City of Farfrost was a simple place, full of simple people with simple ambitions. The hope of discovery was truly the only thing that drove them on, most of the time, and so rumors and talk fueled the society. Talk among the villagers became talk among the Watch, and talk among the Watch became talk among the Royals. Soon enough, the King heard the news whilst dining.

The long, circular table housed the King and those who had befriended him long ago was crafted of the finest mahogany wood, found the far, deep reaches of jungle caves known as the Thorned Tunnels. Jubilation and amusement filled the air, as many close friends shared stories and anecdotes, rumors and talk. Boften, the firey-haired dwarven man, adjacent to the King, talked the monarch's ear off about the many caverns he had explored years ago. He took a generous gulp of his ale, letting out a hearty chuckle.

"And then that wee bastard tells me, 'We got'a leave, cap'n! The bloody tunnel's gonna cave in!', And I just looked at him an' I said: 'Oh, is it? Well, too bad for the tunnel, then!'" With that, the dwarf let out a loud laugh, taking another large gulp of his drink. The King smiled in response, clearly amused, as he let out a few chuckles made coarse by his age.

"You never fail to impress me with your tales," The King said, picking up his wineglass, which was laced with fine gold and wrapped in even finer velvet; he took a drink of the wine, nodding in satisfaction. Despite the life of the room, the King appeared troubled. Although he had yet to hear of the Mapmaker's Guild's new plan, he had long known of the disappearances beforehand. He knew something had to be wrong, but he couldn't figure it out. All he knew is that if it had anything to do with the Crimson, it would-

"The building is secure, sire." A stern, regal voice let out from next to him, snapping the King out of his thoughts. It was none other than the great Orion, second in command of the City Watch; he stood tall at six feet, and was clad in heavy silver armor lined with fine gold. His rough, scarred face, speckled with stubble, was visible in the absence of his helmet. The King nodded to the Watchman, thanking him. Orion turned to leave, making his way out the large, ornate mahogany door on the other side of the room. Boften turned to the King, smiling.

"He's a tough one, that Orion. Ought to see if he should do that task for the mapmakers." The King looked at Boften with curiosity, taking a sip of his wine.

"Task? What sort?" He said, leaning in and giving his combed gray beard a stroke.

"Oh, somethin' about fillin' in that empty corner er somethin'. Says they want four of the best men to go take a look." The King remained silent at this remark, looking away from Boften and glaring down at the table.

"You alright, sire?" Boften asked, so concerned he actually put his tankard, full of ale, on the table.

"We musn't go to that evil place." The King said, standing with the skid of his chair to leave the room.


	2. Chapter 2

The King stormed off to his chamber, the occasional Watchman along the way wishing him goodwill being ignored entirely as the flustered royal hurried. He reached his room, at the far end of the Great Hall, and swung the doors open with a loud creak. Several loud, disheveled breaths escaped from him as he went to his silk-adorned bed to sit, glaring down at the floor, consumed by worry. _There's no other explanation,_ he thought to himself, wide-eyed. _The Crimson is back._ He shook his head, attempting to deny what he had thought. He lay, slouched, in his bed, letting out a huffing sigh as he glared at the ceiling.

"Oh, not again. . ." A tender, female voice spoke, back at the Dining Room. Everyone looked over at the woman who had spoken: It was Queen Claire, ruler, alongside the King, of Terraria and its inhabitants. She rose from her seat, letting out a worried sigh, and slightly lifted her large, gold-lined green dress in order to run forward at a brisk pace, out the door. Boften looked over at the other people in the room.

"What's got 'is knickers in a twist, ey?" The other ten or so people around the table didn't respond, appearing just as worried as the King himself. Everyone just looked back down at their food and drink, taking small bites of it. The room was practically silent at this point, save for the occasional tinker of glasses and forks upon plate.

"Well, it's not like this is the first time this 'es 'appened, you worryworts. He'll be fine. Just ramblin' on about that . . . Crimson again, I'll bet." Boften exclaimed, about to take a drink of his ale before realizing his tankard was empty. He declared he was to go to the cellar to retrieve some more, and left the room. Whilst walking through the hall, Boften met with another friend of the King's, Stezom, a rather short fellow with pale grey skin; he was a goblin, the only one to walk through the royal halls with welcome arms, at that. The little man tinkered with his glasses a bit, looking over at Boften.

"Dinner's done so soon?" He said in a high-pitched, scratchy tone.

"King's 'avin one o' his episodes again, Stezom." Boften replied. Stezom's eyes bulged a bit, stopping Boften in the hall way with the raise of his hand.

"You didn't tell him about the. . ." Stezom said, trailing off.

"Sure did," Boften replied. "Didn't think he'd get so worried 'bout it. Crimson's been gone for a bloody century, you know that. Ain't nothin' but the mad musings of a former hero, his ramblings. He'll be fine in the mornin'." He explained to Stezom, who appeared unimpressed. Stezom let out a sigh, watching as the drunken Boften continued down the hall, absent in mind of the King's troubles.

The King looked up, hearing the knock at the door. He knew it was his Queen from the soft, tender knock alone.

"My dear?" She asked, looking over at him, parting some of her silky gray hair to reveal her face, sweet and kind in appearance despite her age. The King shook his head, sitting up on the bed.

"I've been having the nightmares again, Claire." He said in a solemn tone, gulping and emitting a shallow breath. He turned to her with eyes full of terror.

"It's not gone. I know it's not." He said, looking back down to the ground as his eyes began to moisten with tears. His kind wife walked forth, sat down next to her husband on the bed, and held him. A few moments passed before the King let out a quivering sigh, laying back in his bed, and requesting Claire to do the same. She nodded, lying down with him.

"We need to end this." The King said quietly, almost to himself. With that, he spoke not another word, pulling the silk-woven covers over his frail body. Queen Claire looked over at him, who just stared blankly up at the ceiling without happiness or content. She couldn't have agreed more to his statement.


	3. Chapter 3

Dawn struck over the dormant town as it began to awaken. Doors and windows slowly creaked open through the city, their drowsy inhabitants taking their first breaths of the chilly morning breeze. Not ten minutes after, marketplaces began to bustle, street corners filled with folk from all about the town, and there was nary an empty inn in the entire settlement. The City of Farfrost was once again awake after a long night's sleep, unlike the King.

He stood over his balcony after a lack of rest the prior night, glaring down at the cityfolk from what seemed a mile high to him. The tiny people walked about the streets, doing their tiny daily deeds and speaking tiny words to one another. The thought that his great kingdom wasn't so great churned in the King's stomach, putting pressure on every breath he took. Even if it wasn't great, he knew that its mediocrity wouldn't last long until he did something. Trying not to brood, his tired, sunken eyes looked down at his frail hands. They were indeed frail, but much more so. Scars indented into his pale skin lined the bruised fingers along his hand; even more so was an innate stiffness that he detected.

I am far too old to return, he thought to himself, still observing his aged hands. A sound of rustling cloth was tenderly emitted from the curtain-covered opening to the balcony. There stood his wife, a concerned frown sprawling across her wrinkled, pale face. She walked over to him quickly, embracing him in the usual gentle manner. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around her in response, taking in a long breath.

"My Queen," He said in a tired, low tone. "I must grant the guild's request. It is no longer a matter of my own or my kingdom's immolation." The Queen appeared confused, somewhat, stepping back and glaring at the King with an expression of incredulation.

"I know you won't believe me," The King continued. "But the Crimson is back. That is why we cannot chart that area. That is why we have lost so many to that corrupted place." He turned away, letting out a sigh as he looked back down to his kingdom.

"Claire." The Queen perked up a little, looking at him and paying clear attention.

"I require Muul to my chambers." With that, Claire nodded to herself, and quickly left. The King, a few moments later, quickly returned to his chambers; light from the windows shimmered into the room, spilling unto it a bright, yellow color. He ran across his room to where his bookcase, of ornate, carved quality, was; it was his own personal library, given as a gift from the carpenter.

He grabbed a very old, tattered journal, bound in red leather, from the bookcase, bringing it over to a table that lay adjacent. The book released a cloud of dust and musty leather smell as it was turned open by the King to a random page within. The King flipped through it, searching for something specific, clearly. He continued his search until finding perhaps the most odd of pages within the script; it was a drawing. A drawing of a heart.

He studied its grossly large, fleshy veins as he removed the page, which wasn't even bound to the book, from the journal. It was a mass of revolting, flopping flesh right before him. Visions began to appear throughout his mind, causing pain to surge throughout his forehead. He let out a loud grunt, tossing the horrid page onto the table. Muul entered the room, moments later, to view the King caressing his temples in an attempt to comfort himself.

Muul was an Orcish man, and a strange one, at that. Long, black, usually well kept hair flowed down from his head and onto his shoulders, his dull green skin offering great contrast. The surprised scribe looked over at the disheveled King with a lowered brow and widened eyes.

"Please, sit down," The King said, motioning towards a chair across from him on the table. Muul obeyed, moving to the chair across from the king.

"You summoned me, m'lord? Have you had another of the dreams?" He asked a in deep, smooth voice - not unlike most civilized Orcs. Muul looked down at the papers strewn around the table, most of them having fallen out the journal. The sketch of the heart. One of a spider, and another of a shrimp-like creature without legs or antennae.

"Yes," The King said after some delay, looking at Muul, who lowered the papers in his hand and looked back.

"I brood over your well being, my lord." Muul said, putting the papers back down.

"As do I," The royal replied, standing up. "This is why I have called you here. I need you to help me make a decision."

"Hm?" Muul questioned, raising a brow.

"I need you to help me choose three others to go to that place," The King said, taking a deep breath. "Because you, Muul, my loyal scribe, will lead them."


End file.
